


Rumpus

by Tex



Category: Stargate Atlantis RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-22
Updated: 2010-05-22
Packaged: 2017-10-09 15:53:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/89097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tex/pseuds/Tex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One fateful spring break, at the family estate in NY, Joe and his dad receive visitors from Canada</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rumpus

**Author's Note:**

> My most heartfelt thanks go to my beta, Ms. X, whose name I've promised never to reveal. She's the one who said, "Where's the eyeliner?"

Rumpus [ruhm-puhs]  
–noun, plural -pus·es.  
1\. a noisy or violent disturbance; commotion; uproar: There was a terrible rumpus going on upstairs.

 

PART ONE

Joe throws himself down into the big wing chair, his mouth set sullenly. "I don't even know this guy. Why do I have to do it?"

"You're here; he's here. What else do you suggest? It's not like you have any plans."

The back of Joe's neck gets hot at the remark. It's a familiar argument, Joe's lack of drive, his lack of a plan. "It's spring break, Dad. That's break, as in sleeping late and doing nothing, as in not entertaining some Canadian kid who doesn't know anything but hockey."

His father looks up and stops shoving papers into his briefcase. "That's enough. His father is an old acquaintance and this is the only time he was able to get away. They should be here any time now and you'll show this – whatever his name is around and be polite. You two will have the Rumpus House all to yourselves. How bad can it be?"

Joe doesn't answer. He knows he can't get out of it. After six months of dorm life and the lack of privacy that entails, he was looking forward to having some time to himself but now --

The sound of a car engine sends his father striding out of the room but Joe stays put, kicking the toe of his Adidas at the edge of the coffee table. Great, just fucking great, Joe grouses to himself. He gets six days here and four of them are going to be taken up with some weirdo from Canada.

His father's big, booming voice calls out a greeting that echoes in the foyer and Joe mutters a few profanities under his breath as he resentfully gets to his feet.

He takes his time getting to the foyer, wistfully thinking about how he'd planned to spend his time here – sleeping past noon; eating in front of the TV in his boxers; a swim in the pool and tennis whenever he felt like it. That's all down the toilet now.

I swear, Joe tells himself, if this loser says "Eh" just once, I'm going to put my fist down his throat.

"Well, what do you know? It's my son, the late Joe Flanigan."

Joe fights the need to roll his eyes and plasters on a smile as he nears their guests. He sees the older guy first, dressed in a suit and tie. His dad introduces him as Dr. Hewlett and Joe shakes his hand.

"This is my son, David," the doctor says, and while Joe is still registering the doctor's British accent, another hand is thrust out toward him. Joe takes it and gets his first look at the owner.

He's a little shorter than Joe, maybe a little younger and on the skinny side. His mouth almost looks too wide for his face when he's smiling, though it's really more of a sneer. But beneath a fringe of blond curls, the look in the kid's bright blue eyes is one that Joe recognizes. It's the look that says, "I don't want to be here, either".

"Hey," Hewlett says and Joe says, "Hey" back and their fathers disappear into the study, leaving them in the foyer drenched in awkward silence.

Joe crosses his arms over his chest, his face getting hot while the kid looks him up and down. Joe's never felt more like a preppy, dressed in his white tennis shirt and baggy khakis. Hewlett's wearing a leather wristband with square metal studs on it and a belt to match and there's a ragged hole in the knee of his jeans. But before Joe can tell him to back off, Hewlett speaks.

"Do you have a cigarette?" Hewlett asks, making the request sound like a challenge.

Joe blinks, sees the glint of three gold studs in his left ear and looks at Hewlett with new interest. "Follow me."

~*~*~*~

Joe takes him behind the gardener's cottage, his usual spot for grabbing a smoke, and they drop into the cool grass, recently cut from the first mow of the season.

"So," Hewlett starts, taking a deep draw off a Pall Mall from Joe's secret stash, "who's the Big Cheese?"

Joe nearly chokes when he inhales. He doesn't enjoy smoking much but he's not about to tell Hewlett that. "Huh?" he growls.

"I was just wondering," he says, uncurling his jean clad legs out in front of him and crossing them at the ankles, "what did the Flanigans do that got them all this?"

Joe narrows his eyes. "Work hard," he says flatly, daring Hewlett to say anything more. He's proud of his family and he isn't about to let some punk Canadian say anything against them.

"Hey, don't get your hackles up, I was just asking."

"My hackles," Joe mutters mockingly, shaking his head. "Where are you from, anyway?"

The look Hewlett gives him is full of contempt. "Toronto. It's in Ontario, what we north of the border call a province. Here, I believe you call them states."

Joe takes a moment to consider slapping him upside the head. But suddenly, he gets it – Hewlett is trying a little too hard, and his sneer is far too dorky to be a threat in the least.

Joe grins, and then rests back on one elbow laughing, watching Hewlett's expression fall into confusion.

"Smart ass," Joe snorts, gasping for breath and Hewlett – David – gives in to a wide, sheepish smile.

~*~*~*~

They get his bags from the main house and carry them over to the Rumpus House.

"What the hell is a Rumpus?" David says when Joe pushes the door open.

"Not a clue," Joe says, leading the way inside. "It's been called that since I can remember." Behind him, the sound of luggage being dropped hard on the wood floor startles Joe and he turns to see David, his head back, making a slow 360 just inside the door.

"What's with you?"

"What the fuck is with all the dead animals?"

Joe laughs. There's been very little change in the décor of the house since his dad was Joe's age and the walls are littered with the stuffed and glass-eyed victims of two generations of Flanigan sportsmen. Deer, elk, several ducks and a dozen hapless fish looked down on them from various heights around the large open space.

"Don't they let you guys hunt and fish in Canada?" Joe asks, wondering if it was just the late afternoon light that made David's face look paler.

"Not so you'd notice," David answers distractedly, reaching down without looking for the handles of his suitcases again, his gaze never leaving the shiny body of the marlin that hangs above the door. "Please tell me we're not sleeping in here because these things are seriously creeping me out."

"No, don't worry, Elmer Fudd, I won't let the wabbits get you. Come on, we're upstairs."

"Oh, Jesus, there are stuffed bunnies, too?"

~*~*~*~

They spend most of the day in front of the TV. David has a commentary to go with every episode, special and commercial and after a while, Joe wonders why it doesn't piss him off more. He decides it's kind of nice to be able to listen and not be expected to talk back. It's relaxing.

David's smart, too -- Joe figures this out when, after he asks David about his school, he answers with some convoluted argument about how the education system is designed to suppress individuality and how useless it is once you learn to read.It's all bullshit, of course but there's something about the flow of words, the cadence of his speech that tells Joe that he's no dummy.

When it starts to get dark, Joe decides to get the last of his homework out of the way and he grabs his backpack where he dropped it the day he arrived from California."I need to finish something for school. I'll be upstairs at the computer."

Engrossed in a repeat of The A-Team, David waves him off. Luckily, he doesn't have much left to do. His paper on Alexander the Great is finished for the most part; he just has to edit and shove in another 100 words. It's all on a floppy he brought from school and Joe is making good progress when he leans over to grab his notebook off the floor and his elbow hits the keyboard and –Joe settles back in his seat and his heart drops. The monitor is blank.His paper is gone.

"No." Joe starts punching keys frantically, panic growing with every breath. "No, no, no, no." Nothing is working, not even bringing his fist down on the top of the CPU. "Goddammit Mother Fucker, no, you stupid bitch."

David comes running up the stairs and into the room. "What the hell are you doing up here?"

Joe gets up out of his chair so fast it goes crashing over backward. "My paper, my fucking 3000 word paper on fucking Alexander the Great with fucking footnotes is fucking gone."

"Okay, there's no need to panic," David says with a calm that makes Joe want to strangle him. "What did you do?" He picks up the chair and sits down in front of the keyboard.

"I don't know what I did, you prick, what better reason to panic?" Joe starts to grab at his books and papers with unsteady hands. "You know, fuck it, I'm not doing this over, I'll just take the F."

"There you go."

"What?" Joe looks over at the monitor and his paper is back, little white cursor blinking happily once again. "Wh – what did you do?"

David grins up at him. "It was nothing. Computers are kind of my thing. Actually, it was a common mistake. You just – "

Joe tunes out the explanation and stares at David, a totally inappropriate warmth curling in the pit of his stomach.

~*~*~*~

The first night, David is in bed by midnight and he doesn't wake up until past one the next day. Joe is out on the putting green adjacent to the Rumpus House when David comes staggering out, barefoot and with a pretty spectacular bed head.

"God, Flanigan, could you be more of a cliché?" David says, squinting against the bright spring sunlight, his voice sleep-rough, hands in the pockets of the same ripped jeans he'd worn yesterday.

In the midst of lining up a putt, Joe answers absently, "Fuck you."

"I mean, are you sure your nickname isn't Biff or Scooter?"

Joe executes a perfect wrist-and-hand swing and the ball moves so smoothly toward the cup that it practically flows. Joe grins happily so when he looks at David, his words lose most of their bite."You go to a private school; your dad is a doctor. You aren't a member of the working class yourself so knock that shit off." Joe pushes his sunglasses higher on his nose and bends down to pick up another ball. "It's getting old."

"Huh. I wish I had a good comeback for that."

"As a fellow member of the idle rich, you are required to learn to play golf. C'mere; I'll give you a few pointers."

Joe's a little surprised when David moves toward him. He's less surprised by what David mutters under his breath.

"If my friends at home find out about this, I'm a dead man."

Joe hands him a putter with a grin. "I'll never tell. Now. First, address the ball."

~*~*~*~

"Okay, Flanigan, I've made a decision." David's talking the second his mouth is out of the water.

After an uncomfortable dinner with their fathers, Joe suggests a swim in the heated pool and David jumps at the chance.He shakes his head like a dog, slinging water droplets everywhere and Joe grins at him while hanging on to the diving board from underneath. Steam is rising from the water and curling around them like a warm veil.

"Yeah, and what's that, I'm afraid to ask?"

"I'm moving in. Just get used to the idea because this is too much. It's like bath water in here! I love it!"

David's eyes look really blue reflected by the pool lights. For just a second, his stomach flips and Joe's smile fades a little because whoa, what was that? But before he can freak out, David lunges at him and they both go underwater.

~*~*~*~

The L-shaped room upstairs is called the dormitory and it's outfitted with six twin beds and three chests of drawers. After his shower, Joe claims his usual spot – under the big window so the breeze can get to him – and David takes the next one over.

It's April in New York, so it's too cold to keep the window open all the way, but it's not the temperature that has Joe shivering beneath the covers. He listens to David warble a surprisingly decent rendition of "Rock the Casbah" in the shower and wonders what the hell is going on.

A couple of times, while they were horsing around in the pool, Joe's cock got half-hard. In the shower, it got all the way hard the second he touched himself. Joe had pushed his cock through the tight grip of his hand twice, three times, his whole body taut with the need to come, before he stopped himself. Sure, he was always horny lately but was he jerking off because he was just horny or was it because of David? Because David had touched him and it had felt good?

To be on the safe side, Joe didn't jerk off at all, but now, he's lying here with a hard-on that could punch through plaster and he can't touch himself now, even if he wanted to. So he shivers and turns from side to side, restless and confused. He closes his eyes but he keeps getting a picture of David's wide, slanty mouth, smiling and scowling and moving a mile a minute.

Joe just doesn't get it. David's the kind of guy that would get beat up a lot at Joe's school – he's way too into drama club and he talks too much and he has earrings. Within a couple of hours of knowing him, David told Joe that when he goes out with his friends, they put on eyeliner, for fuck's sake. It sounds pretty queer to Joe but at the same time, David talks about girls in the same way that Joe and his friends do.

Joe has never met anybody like David Hewlett. And while he's lying there, hot and turned on, it occurs to Joe that in a couple of days, he's never going to see David again, so if Joe were to decide to just jump him, no one would ever have to know. He's actually considering it when he realizes what he's doing and his stomach starts to churn sourly.

What the fuck am I doing? Joe asks himself, grinding his teeth together. I'm not a fucking fag. And he's pretty sure David isn't, either. It pisses Joe off, because he knew, he just knew as soon as his dad told him that they were having guests that it was going to mess up all his plans. He just had no idea how messed up things were going to get.

The water turns off in the bathroom and a few minutes later, David comes in, dressed in boxers and a tee shirt that was probably once blue but now is slate grey. Joe uncurls a little because the bastard comes over and sits on his bed, one knee bent so that Joe can see the fine, blond hair on his leg.

"Hey, you going to sleep already?" David asks, still scrubbing a towel against his hair, leaving a cap of pale curls in its wake.

Joe shivers and turns over, away from David. "Yeah, do you mind? I'm tired."

"Oh. Sure. I – um, I think I'll go downstairs and watch a little TV."

"Yeah. Whatever. 'Night," Joe mutters, anything to get him out quickly.

"Goodnight, Joe." Joe starts to relax when David's hand comes to rest on Joe's shoulder. His fingers tighten briefly and then, he's gone, turning out the light and closing the door behind him. Joe wraps his arms his waist and groans softly, fighting the urge to turn over and hump the mattress.

God. He is so totally screwed.

* * *

PART TWO

David reaches down and points the head of his cock into Clarisse Bennet's hot, wet pussy and with one jerk of his hips, he's in. He pants against the side of her face for a couple of seconds, not daring to move because Christ, fuck, it feels so good that he's going to come if either of them so much as twitch. She's tight, it's like a pulsing velvet vise in there and she wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him in further.

He's making all sorts of embarrassing noises and he hitches his hips just a little, just a tiny test thrust to see if he's going to last more than five seconds. It works, but Clarisse starts to squirm underneath him, whispering in his ear in a soft, deep voice to come on, it's okay, do it and David can't wait any longer.

 

He strokes in and out, slow and steady, burying his cock to the hilt, as far as he can go and then, sliding out again until only the head is still encased in that slick heat. Two, three times, he keeps going, toes pushing into the mattress as he works to get deeper.

Clarisse grabs his head and kisses him hard, her tongue sliding into his mouth and David loses the rhythm for a second, distracted because she's really, really good at this. She's got the most amazingly curvy lips and they're soft and warm and she tastes like, hmm, corn chips.

David feels the approach of his orgasm, up the back of his legs to the base of his spine and oh wow, this is so cool, David thinks, lifting his head to look down into hazel eyes. No, wait; Clarisse's eyes are blue –

David keeps moving, he can't stop, no power on earth is going to stop him now, but it's Joe Flanigan's lean, smooth body that arches up against him and Joe's pouty red mouth that smiles back him. "Fuck yeah, that's it," Joe says in a sexy growl and David gasps and comes.

He wakes up during the first long pulse of his orgasm but he's not fully aware of what's happening until he's shaking and panting and sticky all over. As soon as he remembers where he is, David's eyes fly open and he raises his head to see if Joe witnessed the whole of his wet dream. When he sees the bed empty, David breathes a shuddering sigh of relief and staggers off to the bathroom to clean himself up.

David's mostly recovered when he goes downstairs. That is, until he sees Joe slouching on the couch, wearing just a pair of faded jeans. He's not much bigger than David but Joe's skin is a pale California gold, nothing like his own washed-out complexion.

He's noticed that Joe is a good-looking guy; he has that kind of boy-pretty that even other boys can't pretend they don't notice. David had hated him as soon as his dad told him they were going to New York and David hated him the minute Joe walked up to him with his preppy clothes and his floppy hair.

But Joe had seen right through his bullshit and had called him on it and after that, David couldn't help but see Joe was a nice guy, too. He didn't take himself or his wealthy family too seriously and David had to respect that.

But liking Joe and noticing his good looks shouldn't translate to wet dreams about fucking Joe's brains out because David knows he's straight and he's almost sure Joe is, too. Despite that, David feels his cock twitch in his jeans and he has to shove his hands in his pockets to hide the evidence of his perversion.

Joe looks up and smiles at him. "Hey. It's about time. I just put some Dukes of Hazzard in the VCR."

"Oh. Great," David says as he flops down on the couch beside Joe. "I love Daisy Duke's tits."

"Hell, yeah. If I could only get a piece of that ass, I would die a happy man."

"I hear you."

~*~*~*~

They eat lunch on the terrace of the main house. Joe picks up the phone and tells somebody they want club sandwiches and chips and drinks and by the time they walk over, everything is ready, with linen napkins and real plates and a vase of flowers on the table.

"Shit," David mutters when they sit down, not sure where to look – at the amazing spread on the table or at the long, rolling lawn and the fringe of huge trees that insulates them from civilization.

"What?"

"I feel like this is The Philadelphia Story and I'm Jimmy Stewart."

"If you say so."

"Haven't you ever seen The Philadelphia Story?" David frowns at Joe's blank look. "Katharine Hepburn? Cary Grant?"

Joe shrugs and puts his napkin in his lap. "I don't really like old movies."

"You'd rather watch football, I suppose." David regrets the nastiness in his voice as soon as the words are out. He's been on edge since he got up and a late morning fight with his dad hadn't helped.

But his short temper has nothing to do with that and everything to do with Joe Flanigan. David's getting kind of desperate, though, because it's been hours since he had that dream and he can't stop thinking about it.

That and Joe's stupid laugh and his floppy hair and the way he carelessly pushes it out of his sleepy, hazel eyes twenty times a day and his girly mouth –

"Yeah. So?" Joe shoots back, his eyes narrow behind the curtain of hair.

David puts a couple of chips in his mouth. "So nothing," he replies with casualness he is in no way feeling and they eat in silence.

Once they are done, a maid magically appears to clear their places and leave a plate of cookies. Once she's gone, Joe says, "I heard you and your dad going at it a while ago. What was that all about?"

David feels a flush of embarrassed anger go through him. "What, you were eavesdropping?"

Joe glares back at him. "Will you back the fuck off? I was upstairs, okay? The walls are pretty thin. I didn't mean t – oh, just forget it. It's not my business." Joe stands up, grabs a couple of cookies and disappears into the main house, slamming the door behind him.

David sits there, his heart pounding, feeling more out of sync than ever.

~*~*~*~

He goes back to the guesthouse – Rumpus House is stupid and David refuses to call it that, even in his head – and flops down on the couch. The TV is on but David can't concentrate on that.They're going home tomorrow and David is surprised by the conflicting feelings that snarl inside him when he thinks about it. He misses his friends; he even misses his little sisters. He hadn't wanted to come to New York and he and his dad had argued viciously about it, but David feels a pang of regret that he won't ever see Joe again.

David knows how it works – if he and Joe ever did meet up again, it would likely be awkward and weird. And if they were with their own friends, they'd each have to pretend like they'd never met, to keep their reps intact, like their own fucked up version of "Grease". At least that would make David Danny Zuko.

But it would hurt, David realizes, to see Joe's lazy smile and not be able to return it. Vincenzo and Andre would think he had gone over to the dark side if he showed up at a party with Joe. Joe just wouldn't fit in, any more than David fits in here.

Joe doesn't show up for hours, long enough for David to fall into a light doze on the couch. He sits up as soon as the door shuts and meets Joe's wary gaze."I'm dropping out of school after the end of the term," David admits quietly. "That's what this trip was all about."

Joe's lips press together in a grim line and he comes over to the couch. He sits on the opposite end from David, facing straight ahead and just waits until David's ready. And David starts to talk.

"He's horrified, of course. It's just not done, you know? I mean, he was pretty shocked by the earrings and the acting and he's not too wild about my friends, but this school thing?" David laughs and he's embarrassed when the sound comes out a little broken. "Oh, man, he really hates this."

"So coming here? This was supposed to convince you to stay in school?" Joe turns his head and gives David a small, mocking smile and David returns it, finding kinship in the collective lameness of their fathers.

"Yeah. Can you believe he thought it would work?"

"Unfortunately, yeah, I can." Joe chuckles softly.

"What?"

Joe grins at him. "My dad has been using you as an example to me."

David laughs. "Really? Let me guess – don't let this happen to you."

"Oh, no. Even though he doesn't approve of quitting school and he sure as hell doesn't think acting is a real profession, at least you know what you want to do. You have goals and drive and focus. Me?" Joe shakes his head. "I don't know what I'm going to do tomorrow."

David lets his head fall against the back of the sofa. "Fuck."

"Yeah." They sit there for a little while, until Joe gets to his feet. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

David follows Joe outside and he assumes that they are going to the main house or maybe for a drive, but Joe just keeps walking. The grounds are extensive and he and Joe walk for what feels like miles, across long stretches of grass and around and through clumps of huge trees. It's so quiet and bucolic that it's easy to forget they're still in town.

He's not sure what they're doing, whether Joe has a destination in mind or he just wants to move. The sun is barely above the trees now, and David can't help but glance over at Joe now and again. They're leaving tomorrow, David keeps reminding himself, and he won't ever see Joe again.

Every so often his hand brushes against Joe's and that's all it takes to make David so hard that he has to alter his stride. This is stupid, coming out here, being alone with Joe. But even knowing it, David follows.

All at once, David sees a flash of movement in the corner of his eye and before he can react, Joe has him by the arms and slams him up against the rough bulk of a two hundred year old tree. It almost knocks the wind out of David and then it's the sight of Joe's flushed, angry face that wreaks havoc on his respiratory system.

"What the fuck's the matter with you?" Joe growls, close enough to his face that David can almost taste the soda on his breath.

David swallows. "W-what -- I don't know w--"

"You keep looking at me." Joe is almost panting. "Every time I look at you, you're looking at me."

David lifted his chin, desperate to get out of this. "Well, so why do you keep looking at me?"

Joe shoves at him again, but keeps his fingers tight around David's biceps. "I'm not a fag."

"Neither am I," David shoots back, feeling a flush of anger of his own. Anger, or maybe it was guilt because christ, this isn't fair. Joe is fucking beautiful and why should David notice that another boy is beautiful when he never did before?

He wants to push forward, into Joe's hip, wants contact with another body like he wants to keep living. David draws in a breath that snags on the singular scent that is Joe - sweat and soap and old money and recklessness - and David melts a little, gives in a little, leans a little --

Nothing moves for a moment, it feels like the world freezes. Joe's gaze – hot, pissed off – shifts down, to David's mouth and then back up again, need and indecision sizzling in those brown-green depths and when those pouty lips part, David can't stop himself.

He grabs Joe's head with both hands and presses his mouth against his and it's as soft and warm as David has imagined, better than that dream he had because he can taste Joe, can feel his heart pounding against his own, David can feel everything –

For the first few seconds, Joe doesn't react but then, he's making a soft sound into David's mouth and they're kissing, really kissing, with groans and tongues and slick heat that's better than any wet dream that David's ever had.

Joe presses into David and David squeaks a little when he realizes that Joe is just as hard as he is and apparently just as desperate. Joe slides his hands down David's side to his ass and squeezes and grinds against him and David thinks the top of his head is going to come off, it feels so fucking good.

The friction against his dick is just right, it's perfect and when Joe presses his face into the side of David's neck, panting and grunting and rocking his hips against him, David arches against Joe and comes so hard his vision goes white for a moment.

He's still processing the whole I just lost my virginity to a guy thing when Joe goes still and taut against him. David holds him until Joe relaxes and leans boneless and heavy into him and they stay like that, pressed together and struggling to breathe normally again.

David's not sure what to expect when Joe finally moves. He slowly lifts his head off David's shoulder and fixes a soft, satisfied gaze on him.

"We shouldn't have done that," Joe whispers and David swallows nervously.

"Yeah, probably not."

Before the last word is out of his mouth, Joe's kissing him again, slow and dirty and wet and David can only groan and hold on.

~*~*~*~

They practically run back to the guesthouse and once the door slams, they pounce on each other. David pulls at Joe's shirttails and Joe goes to work on David's zipper, shoving his hand into David's boxers before they even reach the stairs. He wants to tell Joe to stop but it's hard to do with Joe's tongue in his mouth.

He hasn't had a lot of experience but David's sure that nobody kisses as good as Joe does. David sucks on Joe's tongue and Joe makes such a dirty sound that David is practically climbing Joe, he's so desperate for skin-on-skin contact.

"What the hell?" Joe says, groping David's ass and pushing him up the stairs with such urgency that David nearly stumbles."We're getting naked this time, asshole," David says over his shoulder, taking the stairs two at a time. "And don't try to get out of it."

David literally falls into bed, because his pants are around his ankles and he can't get them off without taking off his boots first and that just delays getting Joe on top of him. Joe follows him down, still pushing his jeans and boxers past his hips and they both freeze the second their cocks brush against each other.

"Oh, God," David groans, "That's – "

"Yeah," Joe breathes and they move with a frenzied kind of grace until they come all over each other again in an embarrassingly short period of time.

David looks up into Joe's sweaty, red face and thinks he's never seen anything so beautiful. Somehow, it's a little more awkward this time, with their skin glued together by their come and the smell of sex around them but with Joe breathing his air, David's not feeling much like complaining.

"I wonder how many times we can come before morning," Joe says thoughtfully and David relaxes and grins.

"And your dad thinks you don't have goals." Joe lets go of David long enough to whap him upside the head.

~*~*~*~

There's one more command dinner performance with their fathers, during which Mr. Flanigan makes David an offer of a summer job with one of Anheuser-Busch's Canadian distributors, with the possibility of something more permanent after he finishes school.

David almost loses it when he hears Joe snort discreetly on the other side of the dining table, but he politely declines the offer without further explanation. David's dad tries to draw Joe out about his plans post-high school, but Joe smiles and shrugs through the interrogation and David wants to leap over the table and kiss him for it. Long before dessert is served, both men give up and Joe and David are gracious in victory. Smug, but gracious.

~*~*~*~

"Come on, David."

"Are you sure about this?"

Joe's lying face down on the bed, his cock hard and leaking on the sheets. He's shaking and sweaty and he wants this. After seventeen years of not being committed to much of anything, Joe is committing to this with everything he's got.

Even so, there's a tremor in his voice that he can't hide. "Oh, fuck, don't try and talk me out of it now. We're here; let's do this."

David leans over him, brushing his mouth over Joe's ear, his cheek, touching his hair with a tenderness that nearly breaks Joe. "It's just – I don't want to hurt you."

Joe tries to laugh and doesn't quite make it. "This from the guy that pushed me out of bed."

"Hey, I was trying to be inventive." He can sense David behind him, feel the mattress jiggle, hear the wet sound of David coating his cock with the Vaseline Joe found in the bathroom. The next thing he feels is David's fingers, sliding between his cheeks and pressing against a place that nobody has been before and Joe goes still, even while David seems to be coming apart. Over his shoulder, David takes in an unsteady breath.

"Oh, God, Joe," he whispers, "I've never – you say the word and I'll stop, okay? Just say it –"

"Just shut up and do it."

"All right." David's panting now. They both are. "I'll try to be quick."

"Don't worry about quick. Just do it right."

It takes a while but when David pushes just inside, Joe bites his lip to keep from asking him to stop. It hurts and it feels weird and in those first moments, Joe has serious doubts. But David keeps touching him, rubbing his back and groping his ass and for once, Joe sees the benefit in the fact that David loves to talk.

"Fuck, Joe, this is fucking amazing," David says, and his voice is that kind of desperate that Joe's familiar with, the kind that comes with wanting something you can't name, can't describe or even see. "Are you okay? Tell me you're okay, ah, Jesus, should I stop?"

Joe concentrates on the sound of David's voice and the pain starts to back off a little. Joe wants to tell David to keep going but the sensory overload is so intense that he can't do anything but lie there and shake.

Somehow, David understands, David's a fucking genius and he starts to move, gaining ground by the tiniest increments and Joe can feel his body stretch. It scares him a little, the way he's splayed out, the way his body is just accepting this when his head is still a little unsure –

And then, David shifts his hips and the most intense pleasure he's ever felt explodes inside Joe and he cries out, all his earlier restraint gone in that perfect moment.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," David babbles.

"No, no, keep going, don't you fucking stop," Joe tells him, almost laughing at David's panic, at everything that's happened over the last four days, and everything that's changed forever.

Beneath him, his cock is getting hard again, and once the head of David's cock has stroked over that spot a few more times, Joe is writhing and working his hand between his belly and the mattress to jerk himself off.

It still doesn't feel great, having a guy's dick in his ass, but adrenaline has Joe flying. Fuck me, Fuck me. The words become a litany in his head and he wishes he could tell David he wants to turn over and watch him while he does it, that he wants to come all over David while he fucks him.

But Joe can't talk, can barely move. When David comes, his mouth is open against the back of Joe's neck, his moist breath on Joe's skin, muttering something that Joe can't make out. Joe hisses when David eases out of him and he nearly sobs in relief when David finally jerks him off.

When it's over, they cling together, kissing through a hot haze of exhaustion and awe and bone-deep bliss.

~*~*~*~

They don't sleep together, because someone might walk in on them. But Joe doesn't want to fall asleep; he doesn't want this to end yet. And there's one other thing he wants, something that's been on his mind for hours. This time, it's he who keeps talking while David falls silent in the dark.

His bed has never felt so empty and finally, in the middle of the night, Joe crawls into bed with David.David shifts around and puts an arm over Joe's waist, pulling him in tight, so that they're pressed together from chest to toes. Joe rubs David's back with slow, long strokes and David squirms closer, his eyes still closed.

"Joe," David whispers sleepily, "what's wrong?"

Joe licks his lips. Does he really have the nerve to do this? He decides that he does. "If I asked you to do something, would you do it?"

David opens his eyes. "Depends. What are you asking?"

Joe hesitates, then gets to his feet, pulling David with him. "Come on."He pulls David into the bathroom and Joe flips on the light, causing them both to squint until their eyes adjust to the florescent glare. Joe moves in front of David and rummages around in the vanity drawer. He turns around and his hand is unsteady when he puts the eyeliner in David's hand.

"Put it on," Joe says with rough need in his voice. David's blue eyes widen for a second before he takes it out of Joe's hand.He nods.

"Okay."

Joe stands behind him, his hands resting lightly on David's hips, as David leans over the sink, looking in the mirror and carefully painting dark lines around his eyes. Joe can't take his eyes off him. It's not so much the eyeliner as it's David in the eyeliner and when he's done, Joe takes David by the shoulders and turns him around.

Then, as tenderly as he knows how, Joe holds David's face in his hands and kisses him until they're both shaking and dizzy.

They go back to David's bed and in the morning Joe's got eyeliner smeared on his face and David has a bite mark on his shoulder. It's the only way they know how to say goodbye.

~*~*~*~

Joe and David lean against the side of the car, a good two feet separating them, while their dads say goodbye behind them."I wish you could see the dumb grin on your face," David says with a dumb grin of his own. "You look like a fucking idiot."

"That's a good one, coming from you, asshole," Joe says without a trace of hostility. For a moment, Joe's eyes turn hot and dark with memories. "It's been real, Hewlett," Joe says roughly.

"Yeah, I hear that," David replies, his blue eyes looking suspiciously shiny. "I guess – um, I guess we shouldn't write?" Joe watches David's Adam's Apple move when he swallows hard. "That's probably not a good idea, eh?"

Joe would swallow, too, except his throat is suddenly too tight to allow even that. "I guess not," he answers unhappily and tries for a casual grin. "But hey, I'll see you again, right? Up on the big screen?"

David smiles at him, the too-wide, dorky smile that Joe knows so well by now and Joe's eyes start to burn. He starts to raise his hand, wanting to touch David and give himself just one more sense memory but David's dad comes up to them and Joe shakes his hand instead.

His pulse is so loud in his ears that Joe can't really follow the final goodbyes. He doesn't know whether he should look at David or start the charade now, the one where he acts like the past four days never happened. Making the decision to freak out later, Joe reaches into his pants pocket just before David gets into the car. "Hey, don't forget these."

David looks at him, then at the Ray-Bans before taking them out of Joe's hand, his fingertips barely brushing Joe's palm.

"Where did you get those?" David's father asks.

David slips the glasses on, with a grin that isn't directed at Joe but Joe devours it hungrily just the same. "These? I've had these forever," David tells his father as he gets into the backseat.

Joe's dad gives him a look when the Hewletts drive away. "Weren't those your glasses?"

Joe shakes his head. "No," he replies strongly, "they belong to David."

A couple of days later, Joe's dad takes him to the airport for his flight back to California. Joe makes the usual promises to behave, study hard, blah, blah, blah. He's glad when they announce boarding.

Joe can hardly sit still once he's strapped in. They taxi forever and he keeps jiggling his leg, earning a glare from the older lady sitting next to him in first class. Joe gives her his best smile and she relaxes a little after that.

The second that the fasten seat belt light goes off, Joe is out of his seat. He makes a beeline for the bathroom, just ahead of another guy.

When he comes out, Joe's wearing one of David's gold studs in his newly pierced ear.


End file.
